


Fxxk Me by Your Projection

by woyo



Series: Paradoxical Challenge [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, Polyjuice Potion, Sub Hermione Granger, Tension, Voice Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 15:34:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14937020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woyo/pseuds/woyo
Summary: Hermione wanted to see an erotic Snape so she turned to Polyjuice Potion.Thank @Haveblocked for her marvelous beta work!PARADOXICAL CHALLENGE: Write a smut with no mutual body contact.





	Fxxk Me by Your Projection

**Author's Note:**

> Dunno whether someone got such a sinister idea before. This is my first smut here, though I’ve read dozens.  
> Disclaimer: I own nothing but a dirty mind.

 

If she’d had a choice, Hermione wouldn’t have set foot in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom again. However, after days of tossing and turning at night, she’d made up her mind.

This was not so much different from what she did back in the second year: set up a cauldron in the bathroom Myrtle haunted, brew Polyjuice Potion and drink it. That’s all.

But this time, no Harry or Ron accompanied her, nor were they planning another adventure into Slytherin’s common. Her aim was Severus Snape, the Potions Master.

Hermione Granger had harbored such an idea for weeks. She knew perfectly well it’s improper in all contexts yet the temptation was… irresistible.

And Polyjuice Potion was her best choice.

In order to not raise the Potions Master’s suspicion - as she did in her second year - Hermione bought the essential ingredients outside of Hogwarts. She could have bought completed Polyjuice Potion in any apothecary in Knockturn Alley, however she chose to brew it herself. One reason was that she didn’t trust them with something that important and the other was that she also needed that extra time to ponder.

And re-ponder.

The obsession had grown more and more overwhelming. She wanted him, as a man. She craved to hear his voice, that alluring voice in a caressing tone. And unfortunately, this was something she would never manage to obtain. No matter how she shot her hand into air, no matter how she got all best grades in all the classes.

It was when she was about to give up that Hermione suddenly recalled what Ron shouted to her five years ago:

“Are you a witch or not?!”

The inspiration dawned.

Yes. Were they in the Muggle world the generation gap, the teacher-student relationship and his vitriol to her would be insurmountable. Yet it’s a magical world. Magic!

So she turned to magic.

More precisely, given that it’s a Potions Master she needed to deal with, Hermione turned to potions.

Though interrupted by Harry and Malfoy and _Sectumsempra_ , her potions set-up remained incredible intact. Hermione prayed Snape hadn’t noticed the cauldron in the corner of the bathroom. Thanks to Merlin, it had escaped everyone’s attention.

There was only one thing left to gather - Snape’s hair.

 

Hermione had no intention of making the horrible mistake she had in second year. She could pick some hair from Snape’s robe - though even that wouldn’t be easy, she admitted in frustration - but it took too much risk she couldn’t bear. What if it was another’s hair? Like any other student? Or Mrs Norris’ fur? She wasn’t sure every strand of Snape’s hair was as greasy as the whole looked.

Or sneaking into Snape’s office? Bedchamber? And then in no way could she escape with all her limbs attached once caught.

So her whole plan was stuck at impasse.

Until one day. The D.A.D.A. class.

Snape showed them how to perform a Disillusioning Charm and asked them to do it. The classroom had erupted at once. Chairs were knocked over everywhere, students bumping into others. Translucent bodies made them squeak. Hermione disillusioned herself perfectly and lurked in a corner.

“My toe! Who was that!” That was Ron, who swore loudly.

“I got you! I guess you are Crabbe.” That sounded like Malfoy.

“Goyle, actually.”

“Ouch! My leg!” Neville, Hermione supposed.

...

“Silence,” said Snape in his usual lazy tone. Hermione quavered.

The room fell quiet instantly.

“What is the point of the Disillusioning Charm,” he said, “if  you all shout so loudly? You are supposed to be indiscernible! To pretend absence! - Potter, stop trying to hex me from behind. Your footsteps have betrayed you already - well then, hide your little clumsy bodies. I am going to do the counter spell.”

Then Snape turned around swiftly. “Homenum Revelio!”

Harry Potter emerged from nowhere, as did Ronald Weasley, looking baffled.

Snape strode across the room, spells shooting from his wand.

It’s time, Hermione said to herself.

She dodged a spell aimed at Neville, who was next to her. Then she approached Snape from behind, hands outstretched -

“Miss Granger, what are you doing?”

_Gosh, how did  he know it was her?_

Before Snape’s spell hit her, Hermione pulled some hair from Snape’s head and swung to the other side, the spell missing her by inches.

She quickly pocketed the precious hair. Having ascertained it’s safely hidden in an inner pocket, she stepped towards the spell, ready to face his snide remarks.

 

Hogsmeade weekend.

Hermione seized the rare opportunity when she was left alone in the dorm. Harry and Ron thought she would be combing the library for any information concerning Horcruxes. That was true. But she could set aside an hour from doing such an endless job, couldn’t she?

Also, Harry promised her that he would use Felix Felicis to worm the memory out of Slughorn. Her guilt lifted a little.

The dorm was lit by dim lights, bathed in a romantic, even erotic perfume she had carefully chosen. She levitated a large pier glass, adjusting its orientation to face an armchair. Then she undressed herself.

Avoiding looking at the mirror, Hermione took out a long black robe from the bottom of her wardrobe, which was almost identical to the one Snape wore everyday. It was too slack for her, she knew. The sleeves were longer. The lower hem fell on the floor. She looked like a child in her parent’s dress.

Hermione didn’t bother to button up - she would unbutton them afterwards anyway. Muttering some spells to ensure the door was completely locked and all the sounds inside were muffled, Hermione threw the hair inside the potion.

It bubbled, hissing. She had a fleeting thought of what would Snape taste like. Blushing at the double entendre, she peered at the potion. Its color turned black, and it gave off an odor of damp stone covered in lichen.

With a sharp intake of breath, Hermione drained the flask, her eyes kept shut.

Almost instantly, the surface of her skin bubbled like hot, melting wax. Her hair, which-shall-not-be-tamed, turned dark as a raven and shortened to her shoulder. She grew taller unceasingly until the robe suited her perfectly well. When the scalding sensation of being shaped into someone else receded, she fluttered her eyes open.

And saw her reflection.

An uneasy Severus Snape looked at her in the pier glass.

For a split moment the spectacle robbed her of speech and Hermione dared not  move, to say anything, to break the subtle balance between her and her reflection. Yet she couldn’t stand stock still here forever.

_Do something._

“Miss Granger,” she said in Snape’s voice. A chill associated with sexual stimulus and jittery feeling traveled down her spin to where her arousal lay.

Fuck.

It was odd to feel an erection rather than get wet. There were nights when she caressed her drippy pussy with his voice playing over and over again in her mind, her dormmates sound asleep. Debauchery. Yes. And his humiliation always turned her on even on the most inappropriate occasions. It was lucky that she didn’t need to hide a bulge as boys did.

But now she had one.

Hermione stepped backwards and fell into the armchair. She had been in Snape’s office several times. Seated in the arm chair with his usual elegance, Snape never failed to have an air of charismatic authority. She peered at the mirror again, only to find she was wearing a still Hermione-ish look. She straightened her face.

Then, slowly, she lifted her legs, spreading them wide and resting them on the armrests one by one. She shifted a little to adopt such a position and, as the robe wrapped her body - his body - so ineffectively, the magnificence of his manhood was exposed.

She admired it in awe.

The reflection in the pier glass was breath-taking, since she had gasped roughly. The bat of the dungeons, head of Slytherin, double agent of the Light and the Dark, the sneering Professor Severus Snape, lay open in an armchair, his cock standing up like an exclamation point.

“Miss Granger,” she said again, bringing out every ounce of magic his voice could bring. The lust inside her roared in displeasure.

 _Release me,_  it ordered.

Hermione’s hand found the cock, on the apex of which was some pre-cum, translucent like dew. Her index finger dipped into some and raised it to eye level.

“To Miss Granger,” she said in an imitation of Snape’s mocking tone as if repeating this exclusive address would summon up her Gryffindor courage. And it did.

She licked it off.

Salty. Smelled strange. But not disgusting.

Hermione’s mind wandered vaguely. Did Snape masturbate? If so, how often? Who would be in his fantasy? Or were they faceless with no identifiable outlines?

They’d be anyone but her, of course.

She stared at the arousal for a moment, unsure of what to do next. There wouldn’t be book telling you how to wank in the Hogwarts library. And she hadn’t manifested such an interest in this awkward area with Ron or Harry. All this… was a novelty to her.

Her hand slithered to the loins, taking hold of the cock, the mixture of pleasure and pain yelling at her.

_That’s right, but don’t hold too tight!_

“Silly girl,” she hissed, aroused by Snape’s voice again.

Her grip loosened a little. Ah, much better.

Hermione gazed at the reflection, imagining this wasn’t the Gryffindor dorm but the Dungeons instead - the light was dim; it wasn’t that hard to delude herself into thinking so. And, she imagined, this was really Snape, not Hermione Granger under her childish Polyjuice Potion. They were having some kind of detention - no, a tryst - in their underground rendezvous. The formidable professor leaned back obliquely in the armchair. The corner of his lips lifted. In front of his erection knelt a teenage girl with a vibrating dildo in her pussy. He demanded a hand job - or a blow job - his tone promising the paradise with pleasure haunted...

...haunted by sin.

“Go on. Please me. Show me what you’ve got, Miss Granger,” she mimicked Snape’s usual tone. The address, Miss Granger, bore a magic cachet she would never dispel. Whispering it was a violation of ethics and morality, which made her more aroused than she had expected.

Hermione stroked the monstrosity softly, feeling its pulse against her palms and began moving her hands up and down. The body loved it, she could tell. Once started, she found her breath unstable - Gosh, no wonder all the boys love it! (That’s what Romilda had said in Gryffindor common room, with all the giggling girls gathered around her, flushing their house’s color) Snape must have a regular routine of wanking too! Perhaps every night when no student invited detention, he’d sit in his dungeon, legs spread wide, just like...

Just like what she looked like now.

From some unnameable sources she knew boys’ wouldn’t last long before the orgasm ruled. It depended on the frequency, individual characteristics and their posture. Usually the more relaxed they are, like lying or sitting comfortably, the less it will take to peak. Yet she had no intention of ending this too soon. She wanted to explore.

Her hands left where they she needed them most and traveled upwards. The balls, covered in a thick layer of black hair. The abdomen, flat and smooth. The nipples, deep pink, hard and sensitive. She tugged them a little, imagining it was really Snape at her mercy.

“ _Do you like it, Professor?_ ” she teased inwardly.

She groaned in Snape’s lust-soaked voice, awarding herself for having gone so far.

Her legs were sore, hinting her time was running out. Hermione reached down, taking hold of the cock again. She massaged the apex, its length writhing in her hands. Merlin that’s so sweet!

Hermione moaned, calling every name she could remember in such euphoria by Snape’s voice - Miss Granger, silly girl, insufferable know-it-all, everything Snape once called her, including those Snape would die before addressing her so, such as sweetheart, my mistress, my lioness, my love, my dear, dear, dear -

Dear Merlin! That’s fucking marvelous! Her heart beat in a crazed rhythm, its thundering reverberating in her chest. Hermione squirmed in the armchair, the building orgasm swallowing everything inside her. All the surroundings swirled into a fusion of opaque blur. Her senses sharpened, the dam of her mind collapsing in the assaulting tide, a tide of accumulating pleasure created by her hands, a tide of the impulse to burst into Snape’s dungeon and begg him to fuck her as soon as the potion wore out, a tide of the adrenaline that set her off, out of all reason, all sanity -

She thrust into her cupped hands one last time.

And it was all over.

Lassitude swept through her. Drop by drop, Hermione carefully collected all the semen that had been ejaculated. She looked at her reflection, a properly fucked Snape staring back. Their eyes met. And she licked his essence off her fingers.

It tasted like the pre-cum, but more sticky actually.

Panting, Hermione savored the overwhelming sensation, committing everything into her memory. Later she would masturbate again, with her female body, with this juicy experience fresh in her mind.

Then she spoke for the last time.

“Good day.”

Snape’s silky voice was viscous and creamy, erotic with sexual scent,  just like his semen.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd appreciate it if you kindly leave your kudos and comments( • ̀ω•́ )✧


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